


28 Soulmate AU Drabbles

by Whreflections



Category: Across the Universe (2007), Doctor Who RPF, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Incest, M/M, Multi, Poly V, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 13:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10968402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin :)  Written for the best friend in the entire world, my fucking unicorn panda.  There's a wide variety of fandoms here, but each chapter will be labeled so you can find the one you want quickly.  Tags applying to that chapter will also be listed.  Hope you guys enjoy!





	1. Tally Marks (MCR, Frank/Gerard)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AwesomeTeaPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeTeaPanda/gifts).



> This was supposed to be done last October, but true to form I'm terrible and it wasn't. It is, however, in progress <3 Amanda gets all drabbles first, but after she's read them they can show up here. 
> 
> She's amazing, and I love her <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Tally Marks. (Each mark represents a time you could lose your soulmate…this could be a near death experience, or separation for some other reason. The marks start black, but when the moment comes and that one is in question, it blinks. If it turns red, you’ve lost. If it turns blue, they’re still yours.)
> 
> (implied future drug abuse, alcoholism, and destructive tendencies)

The first time Frank was old enough to understood the look in his mom’s eyes every time she saw his arm, he was six.  It’s vivid in his mind, the time-stilled moment of sitting there on the kitchen counter and watching her drop a spoon into the cake batter and clutch at her arm just below her own modest four lines.  The second was blinking, fading in out like something inside her was breathing it towards itself, blowing it back to the surface.  When it turned blue a minute later,  her laughter bubbled out of her like it hurt, and she ignored the tears that had fallen into the chocolate to kiss him on the cheek and tell him daddy was coming home.  

He didn’t have the words for it, not right that second, but the next day he’d stood out on the playground and squinted at his own arm under the sun, studying the marks that stretched in haphazard rows from the inside of his elbow almost down to his wrist.  He’d overheard her on the phone, talking to dad or grandpa he couldn’t be sure, but she’d said she passed another roll of the dice.  

He’d never been overly good at games of luck. 


	2. Color changing touch (Across the Universe, Max/Jude Jude/Lucy poly V)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. Color changing touch. (Their skin changes color when you touch it, though it fades quickly…but the mark you leave when you first bond with them, that stays as a tattoo.)

Jude’s huff of breath curls warm against the curve of Max’s spine, turned by a smile he’d deny if Max tried to turn around.  He keeps _squirming_ , shifting to reach his lighter, reach his smokes, settle himself in further between Jude’s legs.  

Another night he wouldn’t mind, but tonight, he’s drawing.  They’d skirted the edge of this for weeks, every bloom of crimson and navy when they touched stirring the prospect of it to life, but in spite of that wait or perhaps because of it, nothing in his life has ever felt as utterly right and in place as what he’s doing right now.  Not even drawing the swirling flower that followed the gradient of Lucy’s body, sloping from collar to breast with beautiful ease.  That was an exploration, a startling delight.  This feels… 

Like smoke from a fire, ripples on stirred water, streaks of red on a sunset.  Inherent, cause and effect. 

Jude kisses the jut of a shoulderblade, drags his thumb down to leave a streak leaking from his masterpiece, fresh as blood and just as warm but whole, healing. 


	3. Compass (Harry Potter, Fred/George)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Compass. (Points to your soulmate. It spins before they’re born, and goes still when they die.)
> 
> (incest)

It’s not until they’re home from St. Mungo’s that Molly confirms what she already knows, what the nurses very carefully didn’t comment on.  She lays Fred in the center of the bed, Percy’s old quilt built up like a nest around him, holds George in her arms with his little head cradled in the crook of her elbow.  His arm waves out and beats here and there against hers, and she watches as she walks around the bed and the point on his compass drifts at a match to her pace, pointing unerringly toward the center.  

Her sigh is one of resignation, but there’s nothing but tenderness in the fingers that brush a swirl or red back from George’s forehead.  She hums as she tucks him in again next to his brother, kisses both of them when Fred grabs resolutely tight to George’s blanket with little stubby fingers.  They are what they are, and above all, they’re _hers_.  

“They aren’t the only ones, you know,”  Arthur says to her when they’re six months, his wand guiding a trail of dishes to where she stands at the sink.  “I’ve looked.   There were these witches back in ancient Greece-“ 

“That’s nice, dear.”  

It’s not that she doesn’t care, really it isn’t, but justifying the way those two orbit each other like binary stars is less important to her than the worry of what might happen if one of those stars burns out.  She still sees Fabian’s soulmate, here and there, at holidays.  She wears the hands of his favorite watch in a locket around her neck, and she rehabilitates injured bats.  Her garden is overgrown, devoid of flowers.  The budding herbologist forever laughing with her arm hooked through Fabian’s and her hair streaked brilliant red is found only in old pictures of the Order.  Her life divides into thirds, before Fabian, with him, after him.  

For her boys, the points of reference are different.  There’s no division by zero.  

She tries not to think of it, not for any of them, banishes boggarts and checks her clock on scheduled intervals rather than staring it down like some bizarre twist on Narcissus before his mirror.  She ruthlessly crushes _their_ nightmares even when hers choke her, so when the world narrows down to a pile of rubble and the smell of smoke, there’s a strange ringing in her ears that holds her right on the edge of the precipice she’s feared their whole lives, waiting to see if this is George’s nightmare or hers.  If she can banish by force of will, if she has to live with it.  

The needle spins, sluggish, little quivering movements that seem to carry on in a slight shiver even after the point has settled, after Fred’s hand is clasping at George’s hard as he can through a slot barely big enough for his wrist.  

At St. Mungo’s where they were born, the healer tells her that without a way to find him, Fred would be there still, the force crushing, the stilted laughter she hears now forcing its way past cracked ribs forever lost to her.  She’s never needed a reason for what they are, not for a minute, but it’s strange how suddenly she has it, settling around her shoulders with the palpable weight of a cloak against the cold. 


	4. Bioluminescent lines (Doctor Who RPF, John/Scott)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bioluminescent lines (line(s) on your wrist that light up when your soulmate is nearby. these turn to white scars if they die.)

It’s not logical, not rational, but if he catches himself in the hush of 4 AM quiet that feels somehow more sinister and lonely than 2 or 3 ever does, the thought slips into Scott’s mind that the delicate ring around his wrist spends more time dull than it does lit.  As a kid, he never thought that’d be the case.  He’d find them, and spend the rest of his days mostly at least residually glowing, even if only while he sat at his desk and worked, a quiet, residual flare that reminded him they were just behind him, just across the room.  

Sometimes, it seems more often the white light of his phone that lights his wrist than John’s red, brilliant and bright, as flashy when it does shine as the man himself.  When he was young that chafed, and maybe it still does.  Either it doesn’t, or he’s learned to bear it, but there’s no resentment in his chest now as he watches the little screen tilted up against his pillow—only an enduring, almost overwhelming fondness, thick on his tongue.  It tastes like honey, like John’s mouth after breakfast at his mother’s.  

Six time zones away, John is scrubbing away the last of the makeup on his wrist.  He’s still animated, eyes still bright though they grow brighter when Captain Jack hears daddy and wriggles up from behind until his muzzle shows where it rests against Scott’s neck.    

John’s rambling stops, cut off short with a soft laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes.  “I think he’s telling me I should let you sleep.”  

Years ago, he might have said _he misses his father_ , but given the arguments they’ve had in the past, that’d be too easily construed as a loaded statement and he knows it.  Instead, he hunches down against the pillow and draws his phone in a little closer, squinting a touch against the light.  

“I love you.”  

It’s not logical, it’s not _possible_ , but he’s half sure he sees a blip on the screen when John hears him, a flicker of ivy green, a tether that ties them more securely than proximity ever could. 


End file.
